


this is a story of (burning bridges)

by geneeste



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, F/M, Fic amnesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geneeste/pseuds/geneeste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's that look (the look that says new names and lost parents and two days in a trunk) and the anger rushes back so strongly and there's nowhere to direct it, and he thinks his bones might shake right out of his skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is a story of (burning bridges)

**Author's Note:**

> An angsty take on 6x09, "The Doctor in the Photo." It's actually pretty self-contained, but I had plans to expand on it (and may still, who knows). Still, if you want to take it, it's yours, I just reserve the right to mess with it later as well. Just drop a comment for me so I can read it when you're done. :) Title from Chris Pureka's "Burning Bridges."

//1//this is a story of (burning bridges)//

Booth is an honorable man.

He is, but there was a near-miss and rain and tears that made him so angry he could barely see. Now the silence between them is so vast compared to the vibrant sound of Hannah, and he hears echoes of her in his head.

He pretends he doesn't.

He tastes the pain on Brennan's tongue (not Bones, not for a long time). He's sure she can taste it on his. His mind is dull, but the feel of her skin is sharp and his hands and lips sting with every brutal caress.

His pants are caught at his knees, and a button pops off in answer to her desperation and clatters loudly against the floor. He's shoving her clothes out of the way, can't get his balance against the wall (he can't ever seem to get balanced). He drags her down with him.

She's barely hit the floor before he turns her over, yanks her up to her hands and knees. She's wet and hot, and that first moment inside her is more than every win he's ever had at the poker table. In the next moment he's thrusting himself past the shame until all he can feel is the retort of her hips against his.

It’s harsh, fast, and satisfying in a way he doesn't want to think about. After (she comes first, of course she comes first) he stares at the ceiling. Tries to ignore the way she's turned away from him, naked from the waist down and still lying on her stomach in the entryway of her apartment.

He'd told her that Hannah wasn't his consolation prize, and he’d meant it. He thinks maybe what just happened between them is.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees her turn, sees her red eyes settle on his face, and he can't help but meet them with his own. He wishes he hadn't, because in them there's that look (the look that says new names and lost parents and two days in a trunk) and the anger rushes back so strongly and there's nowhere to direct it, and he thinks his bones might shake right out of his skin.

Because he is not the man he thought he was.

She sees it (she sees more now than he ever thought she would, and that’s just one more thing he wishes he hadn’t gotten wrong) and her face collapses. But then she's up and disappearing, leaving behind only a hoarse please just go. So he does.

A day and a night, two days, and more until weeks have passed since that night on the floor. He doesn't tell Hannah. He doesn't tell anyone, not even his priest at the confessions he now spends every Tuesday night attending.

He spends less time in the lab, and she spends less time in the field, and for a while he is able to tell himself that this is the inevitable consequence of sin.


End file.
